


His Biggest Fan

by phichitperfect



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Fluff, Katsuki Yuuri's Victor Nikiforov Posters, M/M, Yuuri's in russia, mama katsuki - Freeform, viktor's in japan, young Yuuri, yuuri is ##exposed, yuuri katsuki's mother
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-12
Updated: 2017-04-12
Packaged: 2018-10-18 04:15:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,168
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10609083
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/phichitperfect/pseuds/phichitperfect
Summary: While Yuuri's in Russia for the Rostelecom Cup, Viktor has to stay at Yu-Topia after the Makkachin incident. Hiroko asks him to get something from Yuuri's room, and, well, you know where this is going...





	

**Author's Note:**

> This was a "fiction writing" I had to do for school, so it isn't very good or detailed. The word limit was around 1,600, so it sounds pretty rushed (which it was) AND it was required to be in first-person, so ugh. Anyway, hope you enjoy!
> 
> -Roman

The Rostelecom cup was well over when I offered to clean off the table for Yuuri’s mom. She already had so much to do, and I wanted to pay her back for her hospitality.

“That would be very helpful, thank you. I’m pretty sure the rag is in Yuuri’s room.”

I nodded and walked into the hallway. I sucked in a deep breath upon approaching the wooden door. Yuuri’s room. Now, how would I go about describing Yuuri’s room? Mysterious? Yes. Secretive? I suppose. Uncharted by man? Most definitely, if that man were me. 

The thing is, I’ve never been in Yuuri’s room before. Not once. We slept in my makeshift guest-room, and worked out program ideas and choreography at the chabudai, so there was never really a reason to go in. I always just assumed it was messy, but now that I was actually about to go in…

I slowly turned the door handle and peered inside. I was right about the messy part, but it looked like a normal room, with a desk in the corner, a small cactus on one of the shelves, as well as a couple framed pictures of Yuuri with his friends from when he trained in Detroit. 

Hanging on the wall were large shelves, filled with different trophies and medals from Yuuri’s past competitions. There was no doubt in my mind that Hiroko dusted them every week to keep them in shiny, pristine condition, despite Yuuri’s embarrassed protests and red face. I smiled at that, before remembering the goal of this exploration: The Rag. 

I spent about five minutes searching one side of Yuuri’s room, trying to find the rag, when I came across a gift bag hanging off the back of the desk chair. I didn’t mean to pry, but then I caught a glimpse of construction paper with sloppy kanji scribbled across it, and my curiosity got the best of me. 

I was able to make out a few words like ‘thank you’ and ‘ice skating.’ At first, I thought it was a letter a young fan had written to Yuuri, since he was Japan’s top skater, but then I flipped the paper over. It was filled with badly translated Russian, a blue crayon scrawling cyrillic across the paper in crooked lines. I ran my eyes over the letter, when I caught my name. I started reading from the top.

dear Viktor Nikiforov, Hello. Im yuuri katsuki. Im eight years old and also your biggest fan. When im older i want to be a really good icskator ice skater like you just in japan. That’s where i live. Also good job on your gold at the saint peter’s burg competition! I knew you could do it! Also happy birthday and congratulations on being twelve now. Soon you will compete in the seniors division. Ok good luck at the grand prix and bye. from yuuri katsuki

By the time I finished the letter, I was in awe. The picture was so clear in my mind: A tiny little eight-year-old Yuuri, sitting at the chabudai with Hiroko, a blue crayon in one hand and an English-to-Russian dictionary in the other, writing a letter to a newly-turned-twelve Viktor Nikiforov, who had just won his first international titles. 

I read through more of the letters, pride running through my veins when the ‘i want to be a really good ice skater just like you' turned into 'I just won my second National Championship!'

I gently lay the letter back into the bag, treating it as a sacred text. There were at least twenty more letters and cards, ranging from incorrect Russian vowels written in crayon neat, readable letters written out in black felt tip. Every single letter was addressed to me, which made me wonder why they were still here, after all of these years.  
As I tried coming up with valid reasons, my eyes drifted to glossy paper stacked in a pile on the desk. My own face stared right back. There were at least fifty high-quality posters of me, from magazines, stores, everywhere. 

So this was why Yuuri didn’t want me to see his room. The more you know. It was no surprise he was a fan. I could tell that much from his program at last year’s Grand Prix, but having the knowledge that I inspired eight-year-old Yuuri to start skating and he was now one of the top six skaters in the world? It was a bit overwhelming. 

The hand on my shoulder nearly gave me a heart attack as I spun around to be met with Hiroko's apologetic face. I gave a relieved smile and sheepishly muttered, "So I couldn't find the rag..."

She laughed. "Want to know a secret?" She leaned in closer and whispered, "There was no rag." Well that much was obvious now. "Vitya, you are the reason Yuuri started skating. He's adored you ever since he was this tall," She held her hand down to her waist, "and it was because of you he started skating again.

For years Yuuri's written letters to you, but he never had the courage to send them. I thought that since you're here now, I should show you.

Vitya, it's so clear that you love Yuuri, and he loves you. I can see it in the way he skates and talks. He has a new inspiration he was lacking before. I could see it in your face too. All of your fake smiles on T.V Yuuri made me look at," we both giggled at that, "They're gone now. You've looked genuinely happy ever since coming here to coach Yuuri." 

For a moment I was genuinely speechless, and it was probably the hundredth time I cried that day, but at that point I couldn't bring myself to care. "I am. I am so happy with Yuuri. I love him so much and I just want him to be happy, and-"

"I know you'll take care of him. That's why I'm giving you my blessing, Viktor." Time stopped and my eyes widened. "You're a good guy and you make my Yuuri happy, and that's all I ask of anyone."

Without words, I pulled Hiroko in for another hug, truly speechless, burying my tear-stained face in her work clothes.  
I really couldn't wait until Yuuri was back.

***

Yuuri turned the key to his and Viktor's apartment in St. Petersburg, carrying some groceries he'd picked up on his way home from the rink. It was almost too quiet in their apartment, save for Makkachin knocking against Yuuri's leg in an excited greeting.

"Viktor! I'm h-"

He dropped the bags and stared at the wall. Over the grand fireplace was a twenty-by-twenty foot poster of himself from the Grand Prix Final, covering nearly the whole wall, along with his medal. Yuuri took a deep breath. Think of your family and the wedding and Makkachin, don't think about smacking your fiance with a newspaper. Calm down. 

He glanced back up at himself.

"VIKTOR!"


End file.
